How my daughter-to-be protected me from a fire: a true story about smoke detectors.
I needed to change the battery in one of our smoke detector tonight. This reminded me of an incident that occurred in 2001. It’s an illustration of the value of smoke detectors. The story also has a nice twist at the end. Afer the incident, I wrote the following email to friends and family.
…I’m writing today because I’m alive and able to do so because of an incredibly important and inexpensive gadget: a smoke detector.
Yesterday morning, at about 5:45 am, I was awakened from a deep sleep by the Battery-powered smoke detector located in the 2nd floor hallway, outside of the bedroom. It was only after being awakened that I smelled the smoke. I blasted out of bed and scrambled to find a fire in the upstairs hallway bathroom we are renovating. The bathroom is only 10 feet down the hall. I was home alone (JuJu and Anne have been out of town while the bathroom is being renovated).
I grabbed a fire extinguisher and sprayed the fire (the fire was the size of a roaring campfire when I hit it the first time. The flames were the only thing I could see in the bathroom—all else was thick black smoke. I ran downstairs to call 911, then grabbed a second extinguisher, which turned the fire into a small glowing area. The fire department showed up a five minutes later and helped figure out (through lots of smoke) that an old permanently-installed bathroom space heater was the problem.